Page 17 of Maverick
Maverick would have every reason not to go, considering he’d just moved and he’d been sick, but that didn’t stop a guy from dreaming. He peered up at me through the dark ringlets hanging in his face. As he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, I almost thought he would give me an honest answer.
“Did you not hear me about those pins in my eyes?”
With that, he returned to the video on the screen, cranking thevolume up to drownmeout. Shaking my head, I unplugged my charger and moved for the door. Apologizing to Maverick Crawford was going to take so much more than catching him alone.
Between Beckham’s interrogations when I was trying to pack and my chronic Space Cadet Syndrome, I was the last to arrive at the house in Gulf Shores. After getting caught in rush hour traffic—and the large coffee I’d chugged very quickly—my first priority was finding the closest bathroom. So it wasn’t until I’d tumbled into the kitchen rubbing my irritated belly that I found Maverick standing at the counter, mixing himself a drink. Based on the flush across his cheeks, it wasn’t his first. Quinton stood there, and Maverick had his head thrown back, laughing at something the other man had said. I froze in place, utterly captivated as his head came down and those sparkling eyes met mine. His smile didn’t fade either, which was a welcome sight.
“Still got the bladder of a squirrel?” he teased.
Quinton choked on a mouthful of his whiskey.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I let my shirt fall to cover my stomach. I didn’t want to argue, not when Maverick was finally speaking to me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So I shouldn’t bring up that road trip senior year?—”
“No! There’s no need for that.”
The booze must have loosened Maverick up, because he held my gaze. He rolled that pouty bottom lip between his teeth, regarding me with a look that had me squirming on the spot. He smirked, amused—as if that was his intention all along. “You drinking?”
“Yeah,” I responded, closer to a squeak than I cared to admit. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Yeah, I’m drinking.”
Before I could do so myself, Maverick began mixing a margarita. All I could do was stand there, stunned.
This man went from hating my guts to making me drinks?
After refilling his whiskey, Quinton whispered something into Mav’s ear and pushed off the surface he’d been leaning on, watching me until he was out of sight. I crossed the room and hopped onto the counter, astonished that Maverick hadn’t made a move to put distance between us. “Can I ask what that was all about?”
“You can.” Maverick handed over my drink and I took a sip, pleasantly surprised—strong with extra salt, just the way I liked it. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you.”
“Fair enough.” After a pause in which he didn’t walk away from me, I took a deep breath. “Can we talk?”
“Not yet.” Then he took his drink and strolled out the back door.
He didn’t tell me not to, so I jumped off the counter to follow him. The back porch gave way to a sprawling deck, with steps that led right down to a white, sandy beach. Men sprawled across the property. Some splashed in the water while others played football on the sand. A few dotted the patio, and that’s where I found Maverick. He sat alone, staring out over the ocean. I followed his gaze right to… Quinton, who’d just tackled one of our goalkeepers to the ground. I winced—that guy would be sore tomorrow.
Deciding to take a chance, I lowered myself into the seat next to Maverick. Silently, he brought his cup to his lips—Crown and Sprite, if I had to guess—and I tried not to stare at the way his perfect lips curled around the rim. “Is there something going on between you two?” I asked, feeling a pang of jealousy in my chest. Not that I had any right to be jealous. I’d had Maverick once, and I screwed it up. He deserved to find someone who could give him everything I couldn’t.
“Sort of,” he admitted.
“What do you mean by that?”
Maverick turned his attention to the ocean, to the foamy waves crashing against the shore. “It’s nothing exclusive.”
Maverick slowly rotated his head, pinning me with a look that sent a mouthful of my drink down the wrong tube. It wasfilthy, but erotic and full of the threat of what was to come the moment we were behind a closed door. I choked, lurching forward to try and expel the tequila from my lungs. Maverick chuckled and rubbed my back until I could breathe again. “I thought you hated me,” I told him, wiping tears from my eyes.
“I don’thateyou, Reese. I never did. I hate what you did to me.” Mav finished his drink, smoldering eyes watching my every move as he did so. “And damn it, if you don’t get my heart racing the same way you did all those years ago. I don’t understand it but right now, I don’t want to fight it.”
“Does that mean?—”
“I wasn’t finished.” With an undistinguished noise that could only be described as a yip, I snapped my mouth shut. It only seemed to fuel Maverick’s amusement. He dropped his voice to a whisper that drew a path of goosebumps along my skin. “Do I get to you that bad?”
I swallowed hard, my throat unexpectedly tight. “You always have.”
“Prove it to me.”
“How?” The man could tell me to jump and I would ask how high.
He stood, tossing his empty cup into a nearby trash can. “Third floor, second bedroom on the left. Finish your drink, then come and find me.”
